


War Council

by lucymonster



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Banter, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hate Sex, Multi, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Power Dynamics, Pragmatism, Threesome - F/M/M, Villains being Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-02 04:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16298528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: Phasma has nothing to prove to either of these men.





	War Council

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musamihi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musamihi/gifts).



‘Open your mouth,’ says Hux.

He doesn’t so much loom as hover, standing anxious at the foot of the bed with his cock in his hand. If Phasma were in the mood, she could lean over and swallow him whole like a turgid sand-worm.

But she’s not in the mood. Today’s war council has left her feeling more secure than usual, so she meets Hux’s gaze with an arched brow and snaps back, ‘Open your own mouth.’

Hux scowls. He’s never liked being told no, and he especially doesn’t like it after an hours-long meeting during which Supreme Leader Ren eviscerated his naval defence initiative, berated him for errors that weren’t his fault, and cut an eye-watering chunk out of his R&D funding to finance Phasma’s request for a new suite of AT-ATs. ‘You,’ Hux says, with an imperious look up and down her naked body, ‘are in no position to be giving me–’

‘Do as Phasma tells you, Hux,’ says Ren.

As is all too often the case with Ren’s orders, this impulsive intervention forces Phasma and Hux to completely recalibrate everything they’re doing. Phasma is on all fours, spine arched and ass in the air while Ren fucks her from behind – a position she pretends to find humiliating, so that Ren can get off on his imagined little power trip while she enjoys the way his cock hits just the right place inside her at this angle. But to make room for Hux, she has to break Ren’s grip on her hips and push him down onto the bed, flat on his back.

She straddles him, facing away. Sinks carefully until she’s sitting flush in his lap with his cock buried all the way inside her. Not the most natural angle, but workable.

On a bad day Ren might refuse to let her take control, never mind that he just asked her to do it. But she’s always liked him best when he’s pliant underneath her, and today, for the first time in a while, she almost likes him. Phasma leans back on her hands and spreads her thighs wide to give Hux a nice clear view of Ren’s cock stretching her open. She starts to move in Ren's lap, rolling her hips until she finds the right rhythm.

‘Come on, then,’ she says to Hux, resisting the urge to snap her fingers at him.

Hux’s face is mottled red with anger and envy. But he’s on thin ice with Ren today as it is, so he obediently climbs up on the bed and bows his head between Phasma’s legs. She’s had to teach him how to do this with any kind of finesse – unlike Ren, whose play-act hasn't once fooled her in all the years she's known him, Hux is a genuine sadist. He doesn’t take kindly to lessons in other people’s pleasure.

‘Look at you,’ she hears him mutter from between her thighs. ‘Ren’s little lap dog wants her turn being licked.’

Phasma doesn’t need him to take anything kindly, just as long as he takes it. His tongue finds her clit, and she grabs his hair and grinds into his mouth and enjoys the rush of heady pleasure that comes as much from her victory as from the act itself. ‘As far as you’re concerned,’ she tells Hux, ‘it’s always my turn.’ There’s no point smirking when neither he nor Ren can see her face. She does it anyway, and it feels good.

Ren sinks back on the mattress with a breathy little sigh. He’s had his executive input – now it’s up to Hux and Phasma to do all the actual work of pleasing him and each other. This works fine for Phasma, though a part of her can’t help missing the times when there was a little more _give_ in this give-and-take arrangement of theirs. Ren has been on a bender since the day he toppled Snoke: erratic, demanding, obsessed with petty displays of dominance. It’s a lot to put up with. There are some things she’s going to say to him when his grip on power eventually weakens and she can afford to put him back in his place.

For now, Phasma kneels to Ren both inside and out of the bedroom. She still remembers the first time they fucked: Ren came in all of thirty seconds and cried into the pillow afterwards. Hux’s debut was drier in the eyes but similarly underwhelming. Shared between them, the two men have barely enough grit to fill a single small urn. Which will save on funeral costs, at least, if it ever comes to that.

She still remembers the days when they used to take comfort in each other. When they were all just wary playmates in the First Order’s high-stakes power games. Clenching tighter around Ren’s cock, she adjusts the angle so that each motion of her hips makes his breath hitch. Her thighs lock around Hux’s head and pull him in closer. Hux snarls, and Ren groans, and Phasma rocks between them in perfect, pleasure-spiked balance.

This is the most important part of her job now, far more important than one-upping Hux or training her recruits or even holding her own on the battlefield. These days, the decisions that matter happen here in Ren’s bed, on the black silk sheets and plush mattress that have so newly replaced his old ascetic cot. Phasma has always been good at adapting. She never picked Ren for the luxurious type – or, for that matter, the type to hack his beloved Leader Snoke into pieces and usurp the throne. But things change. People surprise you. You take what life gives you and find a way to make it work to your advantage.

Someone like Hux, who’s puffed up with pride and ideology, is doomed to flounder in the face of Ren’s ascension. He can’t separate his outcomes from his methods. Can’t open his legs nicely and take pleasure where pleasure is offered. He doesn’t have Phasma’s patience, or her long-term vision.

Hux kneels between her thighs and he’s thinking about Ren – loving him, loathing him, salivating to thoughts of the day when the tables turn and he can take control. His lust is tangled inextricably with his resentment.

Ren moves inside her and he’s thinking about the chip on his shoulder – the scavenger brat who turned him down, the former leaders who doubted his authority, the long list of people who he thinks have wronged him. His thirst for power is tinged with desperation and a gaping, pitiful need for approval.

Phasma grinds between them and she thinks about the present. About the simple reality of her situation and how to keep the balance tipped in her favour. About the satisfying stretch of a hard cock inside her and the shiver of a soft tongue on her clit. There’s nothing here to complain about. There are harder and far uglier ways to stay in control than the one she’s found.

She has nothing to prove to either of these men, no rigid ideals to protect, no unmet needs to scramble after. She’s flexible. She’s open to change. And that’s why she now has new AT-AT funding and a fast-approaching orgasm, whereas Hux has nothing but a mouthful of her cunt.

She hooks a leg around Hux’s neck, and the new tilt of her hips pulls Ren’s cock in deeper to rub against a place that sets her nerves alight. Scrunching her eyes shut, she pulls Hux’s hair and clenches around Ren and urges them both on until the pleasure hits its peak.


End file.
